NOW:

The fitting for Jaime's new hand was a solemn, quiet affair. He endured the rather brusque manhandling by the elderly doctor with pinched features, and flared nostrils, but offered no more than a discernible grunt or curt dip of his head when prodded for audible answers to clipped questions.

Brienne had to stop herself on more than one occasion from asking the doctor to at least pretend to show some compassion towards his maimed patient. Instead, she folded her long arms over her meager bosom and took in the entire affair in a mixture of forced apathy, but internal sympathy.

She winced as the doctor had practically forced the still-healing stub of Jaime's forearm into a cloth material that seemed abrasive to the sensitive, scarred skin. Still, her former partner took in the pain with only a jaw seized in closed-mouth teeth gnashing and a fevered brightness in his eyes, but no uttered words.

She wondered if Jaime was enduring the entire affair as he was because he felt he deserved the pain or simply because he had given up fighting. She also didn't know which option seemed the better one.

After the appointment, when they had buckled themselves into her car and she was ready to pull away from the curb, she rifled through a small, leather satchel she had pulled out from behind his seat until she produced a white bag that rattled with the telltale sound of pills. She tore the bag apart easily, yanking out the orange, plastic bottle within with jerky movements before uncapping it and tapping out two pills into her broad palm. She held out her hand to her partner, who refused to tear his gaze from where he had focused it on or through the passenger window.

"Just take them," she demanded. "I know you're in pain."

"You don't know anything," he snapped in reply, but still refused to look her way.

With an eye roll that she knew he couldn't see, she bodily leaned over the console between them and grabbed his left shoulder. He visibly started at the force of the motion, but was unable to quickly school his expression before she caught sight of the wet tracks on his face.

She pulled her hand away as if scalded.

"Jaime-"

"Don't."

She suddenly felt bereft of the pent-up frustration that had been building within her. His voice was firm, but also without the malice that had tinged his every word previously. The few he had bothered to uttered in her presence, at least.

That was a start, she supposed, only now realizing that he had been putting up a front.

She enclosed the pills in her palm into a loose fist. She slowly inhaled, held it, then let loose her breath before trying to speak. "You're right," she chewed on her wide, lower lip. "I don't know anything. There's no way I can possibly know how you're feeling, but I can see you're in pain. Please, just take them."

He had hiked up his shoulder, as if he was subconsciously or possibly even purposely trying to block the sight of her from his peripheral, but she could see that he was starting to waver. She thought that he would have maintained the cold shoulder if the pain wasn't so obviously writ in the tightness around his eyes, and the way he cradled his stump to his chest.

With a beleaguered sigh, he lowered his shoulder and awkwardly half-turned his still buckled body so that he could accept the offered pills with his left hand. Before she could grab the unopened bottle of water she had saved for him, he had tossed the white capsules into the back of his throat, and swallowed them with only a slight grimace at the chalky taste.

He swiped his tongue over his teeth, before turning to face the window again, seemingly content to stare through the glass as Brienne sighed and placed the torn remains of the prescription bag into her satchel. She placed the leather bag back behind his seat, started the car, and carefully pulled away from the side of the road with the soft click-click-click of the indicator the only sound.

It wasn't until they were more than halfway into their journey toward his apartment when she finally realized that his grumbled slur in the quiet space between them was a thank you.

When Brienne finally pulled her car in front of Jaime's apartment building, dusk had turned the sky a dark mixture of orange and gray. The lampposts that lined the streets were few and far between; many just looming shafts of rusted metal thrusting out of broken sidewalks without purpose as their lights had long ago flickered out.

Once again, Brienne found herself wondering how someone with the family name of Lannister couldn't afford something much nicer than the city hovel Jaime had secluded himself in.

Banishing her curiosity, she made quick work of switching the ignition off, and exiting the vehicle before Jaime could even attempt to unbuckle himself. It seemed the painkillers were rendering his remaining limbs near useless as he tugged ineffectively at the strap. She grabbed the satchel from the backseat, slammed the door shut, and shouldered the leather bag as far up her arm as it would go before attempting to pull Jaime from his seat.

He grumbled in protest, although what he was protesting didn't seem to be evident, but allowed himself to be tugged out. From there, Brienne had to practically frog-march him up the walkway, and through the seemingly never-ending flight of stairs until they arrived at his number.

She unlocked the door and pushed him inside, nearly losing the bag on her shoulder to gravity. He frowned up at her in the darkness, his brows creased downward as he fumbled to steady himself in the dark. She flipped the light switch on the wall, and dumped her bag on the ground.

"Okay," she placed her hands on her wide waist. "First order of business is to have you drink some water, then off to bed."

He was either too tired or incapable of opening his eyes further than the slits they were. A frown still marred his handsome face as he asked, "What are you doing?"

She opened one of the cabinets in the tight-fitting kitchen, and pulled down a glass covered in fingerprints. She filled the glass fully from the tap, and thrust it into his hand.

"I'm keeping an eye on you. As I promised."

Water sloshed over his wrist, soaking the sleeve of his dark red Henley as he faltered in his step.

"Promised whom? My brother?" His upper lip curled in a sneer, but his gaze was unfocused on the floor. "Your handler?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she gently tipped the bottom of the glass clenched in his hand up until he finally raised it to his lips and took several, deep gulps. He set the empty cup heavily atop the counter, and pushed himself away with a smack of his wet lips.

"Y'know, you don't have to pretend to care anymore." He waved his stump in the air as he weaved down the short hall and into his bedroom. "I'm back home in, well-" He huffed out a wry laugh. "Not in one piece, but nothing to be done about that, is there?"

"I'm not pretending," she called out softly, but he didn't appear to even be listening.

He stumbled as he started to toe off his unlaced boots, while reaching over his back with one hand and trying to pull his long-sleeved shirt over his head. He was a tangle of uncoordinated limbs for several seconds before she sighed heavily, and stepped forward.

"Oh, leave it!"

She grabbed the bottom of his shirt when he let it go, and tugged it up to his armpits before he lifted his arms straight into the air so that she could pull it the rest of the way off. His hair had been growing out on the back and sides of his head; now it was mussed up from the gathered static. He looked almost endearing, with his eyes barely opened and his mouth parted as he muzzily stared up at her.

Brienne opened her mouth, but she didn't know if it was to protest his earlier words or to argue against them or what she even wanted to say anymore. She was tired, and she was tired of feeling as if she was at fault for his current condition. She knew he felt betrayed, that he felt less like the lion he was born as and more like a sheep primed for the wolves.

She wished she could convince him that he wasn't a deliberate pawn in her investigation. That he was just an unfortunate casualty in the service of something bigger than themselves. She had to find a missing teenager. It was literally her field at the bureau, and this case was personal. She wished she knew how to express how sorry she was that he had to be involved.

He suddenly slumped forward, eyelids fluttering as he fought the inevitable urge to sleep. He hadn't had much rest during his time in the hospital; coma notwithstanding. She urged his lax body backward, trying her best to gently maneuver his still bruised frame toward his unmade bed, but despite her size he wasn't that much smaller than her. In fact, he was only an inch or so shorter than she, and at one point had at least ten pounds of muscle on her. Now, after a steady diet of hospital food, he had to weigh as much as her, if not less.

His nose settled into the crook of her neck. He took a deep breath, and nuzzled her flesh before she sharply pulled away. "I want to forgive you," he murmured hotly against her freckled skin.

Brienne gently got him to lie back. He had already managed to get his boots off, but while she thought sleeping in jeans would be uncomfortable, she knew he wasn't wearing anything underneath. So, she simply tugged the comforter from underneath his slack body until it covered his bare torso.

"I want to, O'Tarth," he said again. He closed his eyes. "I trusted you."

Brienne swallowed the thick lump in her throat, and waited until he began to softly snore before allowing herself to pull away with tears clumping her lashes together. She resigned herself to a sleepless night on his tiny couch.

He trusted you.

And you betrayed that trust.

TBC...

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